They See Me Trollin': A Skyrim Saga
by JocyJuline
Summary: What happens when a band of trolls destroys your home? Go adventuring through Skyrim! And hopefully not end up with an arrow in the-oh you know the joke!
1. Chapter 1

Our first story written together! It takes place at the beginning of Skyrim but mentions Oblivion events. We tried to stay serious with it, but it kind of branched off into this thing and we're not really sure what happened. Poor, poor Hadvar. Enjoy!

Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. We only own our characters: Shealyne, Arlen, Olana, Thearis, Anya, and Anya's kid.

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The sun shone through the white clouds, casting its rays upon the forested lands nestled between the Heartlands and the Great Forest of Cyrodiil in the early morn. Upon the border sat a small, wooden cabin that rested within a fertile meadow full of flowers and tall grasses which the wind lulled awake in the gentle breeze.

A woman was the sole resident of the humble shack, the Breton young in appearance yet aged in mind and heart. Just two hundred years ago these lands were once scarred with numerous Oblivion Gates opening and burning the land, unleashing armies of Daedra, and those were the days she remembered well. She had stood by her beloved Empire and country as demons ravished her home, and had seen the sacrifice and death of Martin Septim-the last Dragonborn of a legendary bloodline.

Cyrodiil had been her home for more than half of her unnatural life, yet she knew with the death of Martin that her beloved land would never achieve the power it once had again. Just some fifty years ago the Breton had fled her home, unable to handle the burden of seeing her once great Empire being desiccated by the Altmer.

Only several years after the White-Gold Concordat was signed did she return. Yes, her home had forgotten about her, but she would never forget the land that had made her some two centuries ago.

Now, the Breton had lived a very solitary life, as many of her kind did. Her dear mentor, Vicente, had claimed that all vampires shall reach an age where something within them changes and they shall seek isolation. Valtieri had admitted that he had already changed with his age. Yet, when the girl-for she was simply a girl back then-asked anything more, the male Breton would simply say she is too young to understand. Now, however, she understood.

A simple, quiet life she had tried to live which consisted of largely working upon alchemy-a skill she had foolishly neglected for well over a century.

Within her dwelling the woman sat, carefully rubbing the sweet nectar of a maple into fragile petals, several species of flowering plants scattered around and withheld in vases, resting upon various end tables. Silk shawls which were green in color lay upon wooden chairs and tables throughout the single roomed shack. Linen tapestries were the only things separating her private room from the rest of the wooden shack. The wind blew the gentle silks, the far wall from her dwelling's opening completely absent, only a railing standing guard as the open wall allowed her to view the meadow, forest and a river flowing in the distance.

The woman's red irises gazed upon the flowering plants within one of her many vases, lips curling back ever so slightly in a careful smile, fangs hidden.

It was one of those days where the pickings of new species of flowering plants would be plentiful, the flora fueled by the recent rains. As of now, the woman rose from her seat, the chair skidding against the floor in protest as she grabbed an empty basket. Basket in hand, the woman began to hum softly to herself as she moved out the door-which had looked like a mass of tangled roots-and into the fading sun.

The woman had marched out into the fields, plucking several of the natively growing plants along the way: foxglove, lavender...deathbell. Shealyne had patrolled her small patch of field, leg suddenly giving way as the ground underneath collapsed. The Breton had become startled, her struggles only causing a quagmire to open underneath as she screamed, falling upon cool dirt.

She coughed, pushing the dust from her lungs as she shook herself, several feet underneath the surface of the earth within a large tunnel. The sunlight seemed even harsher as she looked upon the hole separating herself from freedom, and found the opening too high, even with the mound of dirt.

Shealyne frowned, lips pierced together as she saw that her woven basket was crushed and ruined, the plants laying around it. She sighed, figuring the tunnel may lead somewhere as she began to walk, freezing as her ears picked up the all too familiar scream of a troll.

Without thinking, the Breton turned around and bolted down the path up the mound of dirt, survival kicking in as she desperately tried to jump and get a hold of the of the ground above. She could hear the pounding of the beast's limbs, and that was all she needed to jump high enough so that the Breton could pull herself up, the sun a sudden ally as she immediately got to her feet and ran.

The ground behind her erupted with the shrill scream, the tiny woman now running as fast as her legs could carry her to her house, she hearing two more chorals of cries joining the others. She didn't dare look back as she closed the door. She knew there were three.

She shook with fear, running deeper into her tiny home to hide behind the tapestries as she heard the door break and shatter from the hairy creature, the intruder moving deeper into her home, seemingly breaking everything as the woman became cornered.

The troll tore down the tapestries that had served as a boundary, the monster pounding upon its own chest as Shealyne readied a flame from her hands. The troll, however, was too fast as it swiped at the Breton, Shealyne unable to back up any farther as its claws scraped her stomach and tore her clothes. The woman was hit so hard she had broke the wooden beams supporting her, flipping over and landing with a heavy thud upon her back.

Upon the ground, the woman was briefly dazed, though shook herself, seeing two trolls charging from her flanks as she summoned a Daedra, the creature gaining the attention of the trolls with its challenge. Using the distraction to her advantage, Shealyne got up, running to the west from her home, a troll still giving chase as she tried to blast it with fireballs, but the monster was simply too fast.

She had ran blindly, screaming and low on magica until she had slipped and tumbled down a steep river bank, dirt and blood staining her clothes as she landed within the water with a splash. The woman did not move, far too strained as she floated down the river. After a time of wading and being dragged by the current, the woman had swam to the western river bank, drenched and tired as she looked towards the eastern bank, finding no troll in sight.

Sore, and wounded, Shealyne began to trek along the river bank, heading south until she had hit an Imperial highway. She knew this road would eventually pass her home, or at least go near it. Sometimes, she could see an Imperial patrol in the distance. If she were lucky, maybe she could find one that would lend her aid.

Walking along the highway, Shealyne easily caught up with the patrol. It consisted of a few Imperial soldiers unlucky enough to be on the patrol in the first place, and reflected that in their slow strides.

"Hey!" Shealyne weakly exclaimed to the men ahead of her, putting her arm up when they glanced back confused. When they stood there staring at her, she continued to hobble towards them, "E-Excuse me, sirs, but I am in need of assistance."

"Of course you are, you just came wading out of the river." one of the men said with a slight lisp in his voice. Walking nearer to the drenched woman, he said, "I am Hadvar, captain of this patrol. Your name, miss?"

As the other men gathered around her, ogling the strange woman, she hesitantly murmured, "Shealyne. Now I'd like you t-"

"You need a good fire first, girl." one of the older men with a beard exclaimed.

"No-"

"What about some food, we have-"

"TROLLS! Over there! Will you help or not?!" she couldn't help but raise her voice over the men. She was getting increasingly flustered and being prodded by a bunch of men was not helping.

"Trolls? By the Eight…" Hadvar trailed off. "How many?" he sounded like he sincerely cared.

"Three. They came from a tunnel that I slipped in, and now they've chased me to your patrol."

"Then as protectors of Cyrodiil, we are obliged to help this woman in danger. Come." Hadvar gestured the men to start moving, but not one budged. Rather, one cried, "Don't know about the rest of you, but I ain't goin' nowhere near a troll, let alone three. Sorry, lady."

"I will pay you! I'll pay you twice, three times what the Legion pays you! Please." Shealyne begged. She wanted this problem over as soon as possible. These men are mere boys, she thought to herself, disgusted.

"I'll not accept payment, miss. This is our duty. Come, men, or I will report you to the Legate!" Hadvar raised his tone. Still the others stayed put. He sighed and rested a hand on his Imperial-issue sword, "Then I alone will help you. Show me to them."

Without a word, Shealyne started back the way she came towards the river with Hadvar in tow.

"Just up here." she mumbled as they retraced her steps to her nearby cottage up the bank of the river, carefully treading and listening if the trolls were still there. They heard nothing but nature.

They came to the tiny house eventually, still standing but some considerable damage done. And no trolls either, after venturing inside cautiously.

"Damn, they're gone. They must've gone back underground. I can show you the tunnel, if you'd like." Shealyne said, wrapping one of her blankets around her still-damp body.

"That's not necessary; trolls are usually aggressive only when their territory is threatened. Never go back to the tunnel if you can help it. They shouldn't bother you again." Hadvar relaxed, folding his arms.

"Are you mad? Do you know nothing of trolls and their kind? My house is their new territory! They will undoubtedly come back! And I cannot handle three trolls by myself." Shealyne was in disbelief of how naive this boy was. "Even if I had some sort of magic. Hypothetically."

Hadvar leerily looked at her, "Miss, you will be fine. If they do perchance come by, do not hesitate to seek help with the Legion."

"You won't be around?" Shealyne asked tentatively.

"I myself will be posted in another part of Cyrodiil after this patrol. So no."

She looked down, "...I see." Of all the Imperial soldiers she had encountered, this one showed the most promise in aiding her. A shame that.

"Will you permit me to ask, why do you live alone in the forest? A young woman such as yourself usually does not live in such a way with no one to protect her."

"I like silence. I like my privacy." she was not going to reveal what she really was, if it wasn't so painfully obvious after putting the pieces together and seeing her alchemy-and magic-friendly house. Nevertheless, she always took care to keep hidden her elongated fangs when talking.

"...Alright." he said, not sure what to do next, not really detecting anything from her. "I..I suppose I must finish my patrol…"

"Must you? Can you not keep a poor young lonely woman company?"

"Miss, a-are you suggesting..?" Hadvar could not believe what Shealyne was asking of him.

"-No, no of course not! I was simply thanking you for your concern!" Shealyne leaned forward and pecked him on his stubbled cheek, then backed away and started leading the confused boy out of her house.

Now outside, Shealyne went back into the house and tried to prop up the door, or what was left of it.

"...I will be back."

"Pardon?" the woman paused as she turned around to look upon the Nord, her brow furrowed in confusion.

The man cleared his throat, voice more firm compared to his original mumble, "I will return to help you. Once my patrol is done."

"I...thank you. But if it is too much trouble-"

"Nonsense. I am merely performing my duty. I will see that this matter is handled personally. You have my word."

Shealyne's eyes narrowed upon the young man, as if judging him for several seconds, "Very well. Thank you." she replied, voice softer, more sincere.

Hadvar nodded, the Imperial soldier beginning to trudge back to his awaiting patrol, "Goodbye. I hope you stay safe."

"Fare you well. Travel safe." Shealyne waved slightly, watching the man walk off in the distance, sighing. She smelt a change in the air of his departure, his musky scent leaving.

The Breton then turned around and once more entered her home, careful with the already ruined door as she looked around.

She sighed upon seeing the state of her poor house, looking sadly at the ruined linens, broken vases and ripped flowers. Kneeling down, the Breton began to clean up the many broken vases, being careful not to cut herself as she looked upon a crushed lily. She paused, gently picking the flower up and attempting in vain to fix the broken stem, but could not.

The woman then focused on cleaning her house to the best of her abilities, not truly believing that the Nord would return-even if the man was sincere. Only time would tell if his word was true.

With the day's events passing, the woman settled into her bed, frowning at the headache she had, knowing much more work would need to be done tomorrow, though her sleep was restless and poor.

Several days passed without incident, Shealyne's house now in a state of some normalcy save for the broken railing she had yet to fix. Her door was in no better condition, the woman lacking the skills of a foreman.

Once more the Breton was sitting at her desk, trying her best to make her tiny shack smell at least decent with the few flowers she had collected. She did not want to risk another assault of trolls attacking her home.

She began to hum softly to herself, opening her desk to pull out a needle and thread, Shealyne attempting to mend the ripped tapestries together rather than throw them out. However, Shealyne paused in her work as her ears perked up, hearing a shrill cry in the distance, causing her to go stiff.

"Damn it!" She hissed, stuffing her supplies within the safety of the drawer as she heard the cries grow louder, echoing across the fields.

Unwilling to fight them, Shealyne cast an invisibility spell upon herself, hiding in a near corner as she struggled to stay quiet, a troll bursting through from under the floorboards. Dirt and broken floorboards flew through the air as the troll roared, its family members answering its call from just outside the house.

Shealyne cowered in the corner, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating in terror and stress as the troll completely flipped several of her endtables, destroying her furniture. The troll paused, sniffing the air as it began searching the tiny shack, going ever closer towards the hiding Breton.

Shealyne felt herself freeze, realizing the foul monster must smell her scent, the creature now mere inches from her face, death rancid and unbearably hot. The woman had to struggle to try not to cough or gag as the troll sniffed once more, smelling her, yet unable to see her.

A cry then echoed in the distance, the troll pulling away as it answered its kin's call, rushing out of the wooden cabin and taking the door with it.

Shealyne stood in the corner for some time, shaking and unwilling to leave her hiding place despite the spell long wearing off, leaving her vulnerable if the creatures returned.

Her steps shook as she slowly looked around at her ruined home, a large hole now in the center of her floor, most of the desks and furniture broken. Tears began to involuntary sting at her eyes at the crushing blow. All those years of building up her home, and it was gone in only a few seconds. Mostly. Much of the damage was well beyond her skills-even if several objects could be repaired.

She cursed, anger rising at the Imperial soldiers that didn't even bother to help her. And even the one that tried didn't do anything. Dwelling on it, she doubted he would even come back, and the mere thought enraged her, for this problem was too big for her to handle.

"Drunken, barbaric bastard! The lot of them." she hissed, trying to think of ways to combat these creatures, yet knew she would need the aid of several others. Perhaps she could go to the Imperial City and hire mercenaries? Maybe to the Fighter's Guild? But she sighed, knowing that she lacked the money to hire any mercenary that was truly good at their line of work.

Shealyne frowned deeply, once more trying to salvage what could be saved whilst thinking on how she could end this nightmare.

Several more days passed without incident, the woman in a constant state of paranoia and misery. She did not want to leave her home, yet if the attacks continued and help had yet to come, she would be forced to leave her home for her own safety despite her skills.

Shealyne was in such a haze, in fact, that while she was attempting to feebly reinforce her home she had failed to hear heavy footfalls approaching, armor clanking.

"Hello, ma'am." A deep voice said, the sudden noise causing Shealyne to scream in panic, the pitch of her voice causing the Imperial soldier to flinch. Shealyne covered her mouth, embarrassed as she turned around to see the man, eyes widening in shock and relief upon seeing the same young man return. His word was true.

"I..." Hadvar paused, unsure how to fully react with the woman's behavior, the Breton showing clear signs of stress, "I'm sorry I could not come sooner. I was b-" The man was rendered silent as he approached the woman, she wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to a more suitable level as she kissed him for several seconds, the very confused Nord wide eyed.

Shealyne then broke the contact, almost forcefully so as her lips tingled with an odd taste, the musk weakening as she pulled away. The woman cleared her throat, speaking almost awkwardly so, "For returning. Thank you."

"..As I said earlier, miss...it is my duty."

"I'm sick of you saying that. Anyway, the trolls are gone for the moment; they were just here and now my house is in an even _worse_ state than before. No thanks to you. Where were you, anyway? You said you'd be back shortly." she crossed her arms in frustration.

"As a lesser captain, I've received word that our Skyrim faction has captured Ulfric Stormcloak himself near the border to Cyrodiil. This has caused me to-"

"Who is this man? Should I know him?"

"You have no knowledge of Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who shouted the High King of Skyrim to death?!" he seemed almost angry of her ignorance.

"...aaand I still do not care." Shealyne stated with resolution.

"In any case, I am to accompany the Guard Captain to Skyrim to formally execute Stormcloak and any of his men."

This resonated within Shealyne, "Which means you'll no longer be in Cyrodiil? What about the trolls? My house?"

"...This is merely a suggestion, but you may accompany me if you wish. To get out of this forest."

She thought for a moment. No more house in the woods, no more solitude...and definitely a higher chance of becoming discovered for her Hemophilia if she hangs around people. But something was dragging her with this man, this destiny that she soon deemed inevitable. The chance to experience new things and a new way of life may be what she is foretelling. Hey, if not, she could just use him for his blood while he sleeps at night.

"Alright. It is set, then. We leave at once."


	2. Chapter 2

Last time, Hadvar tried to help Shealyne with her troll problem, but ultimately failed. Therefore, a homeless Shealyne decides to follow Hadvar to Skyrim! Enjoy!

Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. The following characters belong to us: Shealyne, Arlen, Olana, Thearis, Anya, and Anya's kid.

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"Alright. It is set, then. We leave at once."

The two set out with a few units of the Legion on a course for the village of Helgen: the nearest civilized place in Skyrim. Over a few weeks, the group travelled across the Colovian Highlands of Cyrodiil, and eventually met up with General Tullius's men with the Stormcloak prisoner wagon train, en route to Helgen not too far away.

"So there are these Stormcloak rebels you speak of, and their leader. Then who are these last few people tied up? They don't wear the rebel symbols." Shealyne asked Hadvar, who marched behind his company of men who in turn marched behind the wagon train.

"Those? Oh, those are just criminals found in the area. Trying to cross the border into Cyrodiil without a writ of passage. Some have been captured before for other crimes, others just new. Quite noisy, however. You, horse thief! Quiet!" Hadvar shouted to a prisoner on the last wagon, a redhead who sat next to Ulfric himself along with a few others.

Shealyne moved her eyes to the last wagon to these other prisoners: The skinny red-headed horse thief; a fur-caped gagged man who's been identified as Ulfric Stormcloak; a blonde bearded man who seems to be a staunch follower of Stormcloak; a burly armor-clad clean-shaven man, and a wild-looking, blonde-haired woman next to him. All were quiet except for the blonde man and horse thief quarrelling back and forth about...gods know what, which led to Hadvar's scolding.

"I don't know their names or any underlying information about them," Hadvar almost read Shealyne's mind, which was itching to ask who they were. He continued, "Yet, anyway. I was assigned the role of caller, which is to call them up to the Captain to be properly identified and sentenced. We like to do things formally here in the Legion." Shealyne hated to admit that she liked his knightly personality.

"And where shall you go after the sentencing of Stormcloak?" she asked.

"Wherever I am posted. It may be here, or it may be back to Cyrodiil. Look, here's Helgen now. See the gate?"

Shealyne indeed saw the gate, and going through it, took in the view of the village. It was small and cozy, but still to serve the purpose of the Legion, whose aim was to formally sentence and execute Stormcloak and his followers as quickly as possible before an escape happens.

The few wagons were driven into the square, where high Helgen Keep watches over with might. A few villagers gathered in the square to watch what was about to happen, and some villagers stood on their porches, gawking. Some jeering at the Stormcloaks, a few even begging for the prisoners' forgiveness in the eyes of the Eight.

The prisoners jumped off their wagons, and clustered together. Except for the tall armored man and the wild woman, they stood off to the side.

Shealyne took her place by the Keep with the rest of the Legion soldiers, and watched as Hadvar stood next to the female Captain and unraveled a scroll containing the names of all the present prisoners. She also spied the grisly hooded headsman, who prepared the chopping block and his axe.

"Step forward when I call your name. Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar announced.

The gagged Ulfric stepped forward. A nearby Stormcloak muttered, "It has been an honor..Jarl Ulfric."

Hadvar continued, "Ralof of Riverwood." The blonde bearded Stormcloak who just spoke and who was quarreling with the horse thief stepped forward as well.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the red-headed horse thief suddenly jumped at the sound of his name being called. He looked around for a moment, and then jolted off past the Captain and Hadvar, hands tied, "You're not gonna kill me!" Some villagers gasped in shock.

"Halt!" the Captain shouted with a steely voice. With no indication of his stopping, she then shouted, "Archers!" and the few Imperial archers on standby aimed at the moving target, and let their arrows fly with immaculate precision. Lokir slumped to the ground and did not move.

The Captain faced the remaining prisoners, "Anyone else feel like running?" With a few moments of silence from the prisoners, she nodded to Hadvar to continue calling. And he did call the Stormcloak names, one by one, with each stepping forward to the group who was already called.

When all the prisoners were called, there remained two in the back who were not called. These were the tall man and the wild woman.

"Wait, you two. Step forward. Who..are you?" Hadvar seemed confused that these two were not on the list compiled by the scribe. Had they just not given their names, or did the scribe not even speak with them?

"Buddy, after a good many mugs of Dragons Breath, even I don't know who I am anymore." the large man exclaimed. Shealyne facepalmed. After a moment of confusion from Hadvar, the man snorted, "Oh, pff, you meant now? Ha, I'm Arlen, and this is-"

"Olana." the fur-clad woman spoke with a rough voice. She scowled and looked away as if she didn't have time for this.

"Right…" Hadvar wondered why these two complete opposites were traveling together. "Captain, what should we do? They're not on the list."

"Forget the list! They go to the block like all the rest." the Captain said coldly.

"What? Are you on skooma, lady?! Didn't get your fix today?" Arlen blurted out, trying to wiggle out of his binds.

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains are seen to. Now come on, to the block. Nice and easy." Hadvar reassured them in a soft voice. With the archers' arrows trained on the two, they obeyed and went to the rest of the prisoners. The Captain and Hadvar followed them.

Then the aged Imperial Military Governor of Occupied Skyrim, General Tullius in his gleaming Imperial armor stepped out of the Keep to address the group of prisoners, followed by a robed priest of of Arkay. Tullius faced Ulfric and announced, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a true hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric grunted.

Tullius continued, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace-"

He was almost interrupted by a distant, yet haunting cry of some unknown creature that resonated throughout the valley. Nearly everyone looked around and at each other, trying to guess what it was from. "What was that?" an Imperial soldier asked.

The soldier's voice came from a higher-ranked older man, but not yet grey. Thearis had walked to the execution, Imperial armor heavy, his movements slothful from his blindness, eyes burned by mage-fire. The dark haired man sported a beard, hair tied in a low ponytail. His eyes were unfocused and dead, the flesh around his useless orbs scarred and burnt.

Olana twitched when she caught sight of the man.

The old man had heard the roar-far better than any man or woman-though could not tell what it was. No, his mind had become focused upon a faintly familiar scent to him-one that he had never forgotten.

His daughter was here, but which one, he could not tell. The man dared not break rank and risk enraging the Military Governor.

"Damn it...that's my father." Olana whispered to Arlen, who bent down a little to listen, "I haven't seen him since...since I left Whiterun for good." she kept staring at him, wondering why he's posted here.

"It was nothing. Carry on." Tullius replied sternly.

"Yes, General Tullius." the Captain said. She turned to the priest, "Give them their last rights."

The female priest nodded, raised her arms, and in a chant-like voice recited, "We commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-"

"For the love of Talos! Just shut up and let's get this over with!" a hot-headed Stormcloak strided up to the block, wanting to be first. The disgruntled priest murmured, "-as you wish."

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" the rebel knelt down and put his neck over the block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" he managed to exclaim before the headsman's axe came down upon him in one, clean cut; the rebel's head rolled into the basket beside the block.

Shealyne cleared her throat upon seeing the blood flow from his severed head and body, the woman putting a hand over her mouth, hunching slightly. In truth, she hadn't seen that much blood in a while, and it brought back the bloody memories from her past-mainly within the Dark Brotherhood. Hopefully the spectators would view her action as one of horror, and not the constant hunger that always boiled underneath. Hadvar glanced over to her and had a look of pity for her discomfort.

The scent of blood hit her nostrils, and she was forced to turn away to try and block out the temptation to lick the still warm blood from the stone.

"It's okay...It's okay..." She mumbled to herself, trying to get her mind within a state of calm, rather than one of an animal that was starving and on a constant look out for prey. Poor Vicente would be rolling in his non-existent grave over her poor self-control which had long faded from lack of living interactions.

She then hugged herself, hoping it would looking like a panic attack as she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, the woman beginning to shakily walk away and distance herself from the horrid executioner's block.

Hadvar took notice of her leave, and wished he could follow her, but had to remain at his post at the execution.

The Captain had already moved the rebel's body away from the block, and the next prisoner was kneeling over it. The same grisly act had occurred, and Shealyne realized it, but was already walking away from the scene. This will happen again and again until all the prisoners are done, and she wanted to be nowhere near it.

"Next, the mouthy Nord in the armor." the Captain ordered and pointed to Arlen.

"Who, me? That's practically everyone here." Arlen shrugged.

"Stop trying to get out of it, scum." the Captain scowled.

"Alright, alright. It's been good, Olana." Arlen took a step forward, but as he did, that same mysterious roar was heard. This time, much louder. So much that some villagers retreated into their cottages, guiding their children inside. Trees seemed to sway, as if a great breeze moved them. There was a hushed silence among the spectators as well as the prisoners, and no one dared to speak or disrupt.

"There it is again. Did you hear that, General?" Thearis said quietly, "It is an unnatural sound. Like nothing I've heard before." Arlen looked to the skies, past the swaying trees, but saw nothing. Nothing that could move the trees besides this unusually strong wind.

"I said, next prisoner!" the rude Captain roared. Olana then shifted her position, picking up this uncomfortable feeling that she could not shake. She didn't know what it was that was making her feel this way, but hoped it would be over soon.

Arlen proceeded to bend down to the block and rest his head. As the headsman readied his axe, Arlen looked up out of the corner of his eye, and froze when he saw the sky was now stormy grey and a man screamed in terror, "What in Oblivion is that?!" Arlen's eyes widened when he spotted a giant, scaly hellish creature hovering over Helgen Keep, its wings flapping gusts of wind with the intensity of a hurricane as it let out an ear-shattering shriek, which toppled over the headsman. Several human screams sounded at once, many villagers running for cover.

"Scouts, what do you see!?" the Captain cried, the ground shaking as the beast landed on the tower, eyes red, hide a blackened hue, and its breath heavy with sulfur.

"It's in the clouds!" a soldier cried.

The Captain finally spotted it and screamed, "Archers! Open fire!"

Shealyne stopped in her tracks when she heard the cries and felt the wind. She had made it to the other side of the village by now, but knew that something had gone horribly wrong. Executions are hectic, but not this much. She started jogging back when villagers ran every which way around her.

Arlen froze in place on the block, staring in fear at the monster that he was so near to but could not move himself until Olana shouted from afar, "Arlen! Let's go!"

"Shit.." he was jolted awake, stood up, and tried to focus his blurry vision through all the chaos that was happening: soldiers firing arrows at the creature that seemed to be doing nothing, villagers running for their lives, the blind man Thearis running off behind a building feeling his way, and suddenly Olana was in front of Arlen saying words that he could not get a hold on or recognize through the fog in his mind. She ended up running off, hoping he'd follow, and he did.

The creature kept crying out and started spewing fire onto the village below, setting houses and wagons ablaze and anything else caught in the way.

Hadvar had his sword and shield readied as he went around, ushering out villagers and prisoners that were still here or were hurt. He was also searching for Shealyne, who he thought could probably fend for herself, but still wanted to know if she was okay.

He came upon Olana and Arlen just coming out of the square. "You! Prisoners! Come with me!"

"Go with the man that sentenced us to death? How do we know you won't just kill us later!?" Olana growled.

"I'm speaking to you as a protector, not an Imperial! I can cut off your binds, if you will just trust me!" Hadvar begged, sidestepping a fallen beam of a house that was on fire.

"Over my dead b-" Olana started.

"WEREWOLF!" Arlen shouted over Olana. Sure enough, a large, muscled wolf-man with unseeing scarred white eyes and dark brown fur spotted with grey launched from behind a building. Its snout was in the air, sniffing and its ears perked up, intently listening. Its head suddenly turned towards the group's direction, to which Hadvar gasped.

"Father!" Olana yelled. He'd already "seen" them, so he knows that she's here.

Thearis's head suddenly snapped to a different direction, sensing something much different than a human. It was the scent of a vampire. Automatically he lurched off into that direction, his muscles straining to run faster and faster on all fours.

"I don't know what's going on anymore, but we must get out of here! If you won't follow me, then so be it! Just don't endanger others!" Hadvar ran to the direction of the keep. Arlen and Olana looked at each other, then Arlen started after Hadvar, and Olana following with a sigh.

"Hadvar!" Shealyne shouted when she saw Hadvar, dodging a fiery piece of debris. She ran towards him and Arlen and Olana, but before she could get there, she stopped and sensed a feeling that something was coming. Thearis crashed out of a burning house, following the scent of the vampire, and Shealyne scowling when she saw the werewolf.

"Into the keep!" Shealyne bolted for the door of the keep, with Hadvar immediately following along with Arlen and Olana. Thearis launched, reducing distance to them but was met with the slamming of the keep door when all of them were in. He continued to scratch and rap the door with his body, trying to break it down, but the door was too strong for now.

"He'll break that sooner or later. We should move." Olana hurriedly put the wooden bar down on the door.

"Every Imperial fort has an escape route; I'm willing to bet there's a way through the keep that leads to the mountainside, and we can escape this forsaken village. If you all will trust me, I can lead us." Hadvar said, looking at Shealyne, and finally the other two. Shealyne nodded, and the other two did the same. Hadvar took out his knife, "I'll cut these ropes off." and freed both Olana and Arlen, who rubbed their wrists and thanked him.

"There are armor and weapons in here; take what you want." Hadvar himself grabbed a leather Imperial helmet, as did Arlen a longsword and shield, and Olana a dagger since there were no more swords. Shealyne ran her hands over her own dagger, something of immeasurable value that was once given to her by the man she loved, now long gone.

"Finally I'm a man again." Arlen said, getting cozy with his armaments.

"Sure you are, iron arms." Olana muttered, a bit sarcastically with a wry smile to display her half-hearted comment.

"...Bitch." Arlen frowned, mocking hurt as Shealyne sighed, shaking her head.

"This way, then." Hadvar led the group down a stone stairway with torches hung on the walls. At the bottom was the torture chamber, its stone walls and floors stained with blood. How nice.

It seemed to be empty, except for the skeletons in some cages. The group pressed on, finding several dead Stormcloak soldiers-most likely having perished trying to escape the fort.

"Sweet, free shit!" Arlen exclaimed, grinning as he started looting the dead Nords for anything interesting. Hadvar stared at the strange male, unsure what to think of his antics as Olana managed to pry a steel sword from cold hands.

Shealyne looked around, spying a satchel on a nearby table before looking inside, finding a few lockpicks. She pocketed the helpful little guys before noticing a cage, a dead mage trapped inside.

The woman frowned, walking up to the door and pulling out one of her lockpicks before gently pushing it into the lock, the woman then taking the tip of her dagger and toying with the lock, and after several seconds heard a click and loud clang as the lock popped off. The sudden noise had drawn the attention of her companions, the woman freezing in awkwardness, cheeks flushing.

"What?...I used to be a kleptomaniac..." She muttered, Arlen suddenly bursting out laughing, Shealyne looking upon the large man with confusion.

"If that's true then you can pop the lock off my pants anytime, girl! Hahahahaha-hahahaaaa!" The man then paused in his laugh as he opened up a found bottle of ale and took a swig.

"...ummm...okay, then." Shealyne replied, not entirely sure how to respond as she went through the dead mage's pockets, finding nothing of use save for a few gold coins. Olana smacked the clean shaven man on the back of his head-though the action was quite difficult for her since she was the shortest one there, "Ignore him. He just needs his next hit."

Hadvar's eyes widened at that, "Skooma? By the Eight-you know what? I don't want to hear anymore of this. Let's just get out of here before that dragon gets us."

Arlen became serious and leaned against a stone wall with bottle of ale in hand, "That's not really a dragon, is it? They've been dead for, what-hundreds of years now?"

"Hmmm...But if dragons are here...how is that possible? The last Dragonborn was killed during the Oblivion Crisis...why is one awake?" The Breton questioned, trying to think back to when the last true crisis hit. And it was a crisis indeed. Daedra everywhere!

The woman thought, but to no avail as she summoned the Daedra Markynaz, the massive Daedra Lord looming over the group, armor gleaming with the torchlight, a greatsword resting upon his back as the Daedra's helmeted head looked down upon the Breton.

"Greeting, Markynaz. Are there any rumors in the Realms of Oblivion of disturbances?"

"No." The Daedra replied, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly not assuming that the little Breton had only summoned him to play twenty questions. Even one question was asking to get your head lopped off. Markynaz disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

"Well, I tried. There's nothing going on in Oblivion." Shealyne shrugged, the others staring at the odd woman, "What?...he's my friend."

"Daedra don't have friends!" Arlen cried, "He looked like he was gonna eat you for dinner! Roast you over a fire!"

"Make it rare." Olana randomly commented, "I like bloody meat..."

Hadvar looked at the strange group, wondering how the hell he was unfortunate enough to end up with such an idiotic and drug addicted group, "...this is what I get for being nice..."

A roar seemed to shake the whole fort as the ceiling began to cave in, Hadvar booking it towards where he thought was the mountain exit, his merry band of misfit friends following, "Come on! Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy, eh?"

"I wonder what it's looking for. Animals in the wild are never on fools' errands; they always have a purpose for doing things. This dragon can't be any different." Olana muttered while the group descended down the tunnel, the other way blocked in.

The tunnel shortly became hollowed out of the stone; they must've reached the mountain. They continued to a large cave with an underground stream running through it. There was barely any light...they're lucky Hadvar took a torch with him.

"Yes..I remember now. I was taken through here at the beginning of my career as a soldier. I'm from Riverwood, you know. Just down the river." Hadvar told them, "The exit should be just on the other side of this cave."

"There better not be a damn bear in here or something. We have enough shit going on." Arlen remarked.

As they reached the other side, carefully treading, they saw there were indeed no bears.

A roar was then heard echoing throughout the caves, the group glancing behind them to notice that it was coming from the torture chambers.

"Damn!" Shealyne muttered, beginning to run through the darkness as if she had no problem seeing, the others struggling behind her.

"Oh, Papa, no..." Olana muttered, hoping they got out in time before the large male descended upon them, for the Beast was cruel and unmerciful.

"Shealyne!" Hadvar shouted, trying to follow her but she had fled into the darkness impossibly quick.

"Where's the exit? We have to leave now, he can easily move those rocks with his strength!" Arlen chased after Hadvar and shook him to get him to focus.

"R-Right, this way! Hurry!" with his torch, he spotted the landmark that indicated the exit: the three stalagmites all close together in a row. "The tunnel is behind this." and he led Arlen and Olana past them, hoping Shealyne would find them and follow.

It was not long until there was the light of the day, and the three of them plunged into the warm sunlight.

"Yes! Finally, the sun!" Arlen laid on the ground, taking in the sun rays.

"Ooh no, if she's stuck in there with that..thing!" Hadvar worried.

'She's a vampire. I can feel it now, too.' Olana thought to herself, 'My father is so much stronger than me, that's why he could sense her earlier. The abhorrence between werewolves and vampires gets to us at some point...'

Hadvar could not believe what he was seeing. He's in a group with a Daedric summoner, a drunken skooma sucker, a lady werewolf, and now being chased by Papa Wolf? What has his life come to? What happened to the peaceful days of guard duty back in Cyrodiil? No magic, no mythological creatures, just beating up criminals that got out of line.

Shealyne approached from the nearby bushes, having obviously ran for her life as she hesitantly approached, "...I'm sorry for...running away. I'm sorry." She wasn't sure what else to say, her red irises downcast from the sensitivity from the sun's rays.

Olana scowled at what she now knew was a vampire. She wondered if she should alert the others; not now, she decided, not with her father hot on their trail.

"It's all right, at least we're all together now...I suppose we should go to Riverwood: the closest town. My uncle is the blacksmith there. He can help us. Or if you want to split up, that's fine by me." Hadvar replied, beginning to walk down the path towards his hometown.

Shealyne looked around for a bit before slowly following, wishing to distance herself as far away from the threats as possible.

Arlen and Olana looked at each other before Arlen rose to his feet, the pair choosing to follow the young Nord down the river road.

"Ahh, Riverwood? Do we have to? My ex-wife is from there. Told me to go get her stupid 'family artifact' from some dungeon and I was like 'Hell no.' Left her right there." Arlen complained as they strode off the mountain towards Riverwood.


	3. Chapter 3

Last time, our unusual group narrowly escaped the fiery conflagration known as Helgen, and are now on their way to meet up with Hadvar's closest family, Uncle Alvor. Enjoy!

Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. We own our characters: Shealyne, Arlen, Olana, Thearis, Anya, and Anya's kid.

* * *

"It's all right, at least we're all together now...I suppose we should go to Riverwood: the closest town. My uncle is the blacksmith there. He can help us. Or if you want to split up, that's fine by me." Hadvar replied, beginning to walk down the path towards his hometown.

Shealyne looked around for a bit before slowly following, wishing to distance herself as far away from the threats as possible.

Arlen and Olana looked at each other before Arlen rose to his feet, the pair choosing to follow the young Nord down the river road.

"Ahh, Riverwood? Do we have to? My ex-wife is from there. Told me to go get her stupid 'family artifact' and I was like 'Hell no.' Left her right there." Arlen broke up the silence, trying to pass the time.

After several minutes of walking the group began to see the forested town of Riverwood, the small village bustling with hard-working folk, a blacksmith hammering away.

Hadvar had approached the older man, tired yet relieved, "Hello, Uncle!"

The older Nord paused, looking towards the direction of the voice, his eyes widening in shock, "Hadvar? What are you doin' here, boy? Are you on leave from the Legion?"

"No, Uncle. Something has happened...but I can't talk about it here. Inside would be better." Hadvar replied, the blacksmith then looking upon his odd, odd group of friends.

"...Hadvar...who are all these people? I hope you ain't plannin' on giving them any of our mead."

"Uhh...no, Uncle. These are my friends. Everyone, this is Alvor, the blacksmith of Riverwood, Uncle, this is Arlen, Shealyne, and Olana." Hadvar gestured to each person respectably. None even bothers to smile.

"Hmmp...cheery bunch you have here...well, come inside then, though we might not have enough room for you all. And Sigrid may have to make more food." The older man muttered, leading the group into his peaceful dwelling.

After the group pushed themselves inside, Alvor sat down at the dinner table, the three companions standing awkwardly, unsure whether to sit down as Hadvar sighed, feeling at home and relaxing.

"Papa, who are these weirdos?" the little girl looked up from playing with her doll at the group, "Besides Hadvar I mean."

"Dorthe...they're friends of mine. Please be nice." Hadvar strained to be nice himself.

Sigrid had her back turned to tend to the stew, but turned to face the newcomers and her face lit up when she saw them, but not in a good way. "Hadvar? By the Eight-what are you doing here? We thought we'd have gotten rid of ya when your mum died. Signed you up for the Legion and ya still come back."

"You shouldn't talk ill of a boy nor his mother who risked her own life to birth him into the world. The way you act you seem as if you disrespect the memory of his mother by sending this boy off to his death." Shealyne hissed, her comment having struck a nerve, for she had bore sons, once. A long time ago….

"Please, Shealyne..don't get involved, just-" Hadvar tried to talk.

"I'm just being practical here. This house is not big enough for seven people; it's a single room. Unless some of ya want to sleep in the forge outside, there's no place for you all here!" Sigrid stayed firm.

"And I once lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in The Great Forest that pertained a single bedroom, a kitchen, and a tiny attic. In that damned shack I lived with my husband, my drunken brother in law, and our three children. We still had room, we made room." The Breton countered, obviously not happy as she crossed her arms.

"Sigrid…" Alvor trailed off as he looked at his wife.

"Just for a night, please. I mean, we're running from a dragon from Helgen for mead's sake." Arlen begged the older blonde woman.

Alvor straightened up, "A dragon? Ysmir's beard..." he met Sigrid's eyes, wide and fearful all of a sudden.

"W-What, Uncle Alvor?" Hadvar asked tentatively.

"Sven's crazy ma was talking about dragons just now, before you came. Nobody believed her, of course. A dragon, you say? Is it really true?" Alvor asked the group.

"Well, yeah, I got a pretty good view of it as I was about to get my head chopped off." Arlen said. "All of Helgen's burned by now."

"I..I don't want to know what you've done, or what kind of company you keep, Hadvar. But..if you are not lying, the Jarl needs to know of this at once! Riverwood is in danger!" Alvor stood up in a hurry, "Hadvar! Take your friends and go to Whiterun. Tell the Jarl of this dragon! Go!" and ushered Hadvar and the rest out of the home and onto the street of Riverwood. He and Sigrid stood on the porch watching them.

"I suppose we're going to Whiterun now.." Hadvar sighed, walking down the main street of Riverwood with the three in tow, waving to Alvor.

"Ugh, more walking. And to defend a hovel that nobody cares about." Arlen crossed his arms, walking with the group and glancing at the few chickens strutting about, passing a boy and his dog playing, and a man sitting on the porch of his house.

"Oh, you poor boy, you actually have to exert yourself for once!" Olana spat sarcastically.

"I get enough exercise with you, pup." rolled off Arlen's tongue. Olana glared at him, "Don't call me pup." Hadvar rolled his eyes.

"I don't get enough exercise..." Shealyne muttered. Though she didn't count running for her life as exercise.

"Hey, you guys, you're forgetting this is my hometown. I care about it. It may be humble and tiny, but I still care." Hadvar said calmly. "You all must have a place to call home...don't you?"

"Well, you know what happened to my home. Damn trolls leveled the place." Shealyne painfully thought back to her old shack in the Great Forest of Cyrodiil, where she spent so much time and yet it was destroyed in a matter of days.

"Streets of Riften. Played around with the Thieves' Guild a little when I was a boy." Arlen stared at the ground as he walked.

"I was once from Whiterun. It's no longer my home as I'm not wanted there. Now...it's wherever the road leads." Olana reminisced about the time she and her father lived happily in Whiterun with the Companions...and wondering why the hell she ever left.

With the closing sunlight, they had followed the river north, fought off a few unwise highwaymen, climbed rocky mountain paths, and it was then that they found themselves in the plains of Whiterun Hold. Olana looked ahead of the group, and across the quiet, farm-ridden plains spied the walled fortress and the mighty Dragonsreach all the way on top, its vigil shining and watching over the town and the fields. "Speaking of Whiterun."

They followed the stone walkway past the Honningbrew Meadery, which they had to pry Arlen away from going inside, to which he responded, "I'm going in there when we're done, just you wait."

"It's closed, Arlen...it's nighttime." Shealyne muttered. Arlen muttered even more softly, "...doesn't stop me…"

Nevertheless, the group made it to the gate of Whiterun, guarded by two soldiers.

"Halt, travelers. City's closed with rumors of a dragon about. Have you business in Whiterun?" one asked.

"We have business in informing the Jarl of Helgen's demise. The dragon was spotted near Riverwood, and the town is defenseless without the Jarl's aid." Shealyne replied, voice firm and urgent.

The guards shifted before one stepped forward, "Alright, alright. But only this once." With that, the man unlocked the doors and allowed them passage, the group stepping inside. The lower district of Whiterun surrounded them. It was mostly quiet due to the encroaching darkness of night, though some citizens still walked about.

"Why don't...you go ahead. I'm going to...try and "seduce" a guard..." Shealyne muttered, hungry as she walked off, looking for potential prey.

With that, the woman left her three companions. As Arlen watched, he also detached himself from the remaining group, "I want to check up on my sister before she settles in for the night. She's hanging around with those Companions, last time I knew."

"Companions? I'm going with you. I need to see them too." Olana followed Arlen up towards the ancient Companions mead hall, Jorrvaskr.

Hadvar sighed. They pinned the task of seeing the Jarl to him alone. This is what he got for having good intentions.

Pupils gleaming in the darkness, Shealyne walked through the dimly lit city, an occasional guard walking the street with a torch or simply standing, watching for any unusual activity. The bright light emitted from the torches had hurt the vampire's sensitive eyes, and the flickering flames filled her core with a sense of dread of perishing under hot fire. It also occurred to the red head that she did know the layout of this city well enough to navigate it during a chase, and the risk of being boxed in a corner by enraged guards did not sound pleasing to her.

Deciding to leave the guards well enough alone, Shealyne continued down the street towards what looked like a market district, several artisans' stalls abandoned for the night. As the Breton continued to wander through the district she came upon an alchemist's shop, which had caused the woman to pause in curiousity. The shop would no doubt have a wide range of supplies she could never acquire while back in Cyrodiil-and more importantly blood. Though with the moon high in the sky, Shealyne doubted the alchemy shop was open. Still, it did not deter the woman from approaching the door and pulling, finding the entrance as she expected: locked.

A guard was standing nearby, the man turning towards her upon seeing the woman attempted to enter the store, "Shops are locked up for the night. Best to come back in the morning."

"I see that now. Thank you." Shealyne replied, straightening herself as she sighed, looking for a place that may have good feeding opportunities. It was then that her eyes looked upon a tavern sign which had read 'The Bannered Mare'. At a loss on what to do, yet knowing opportunity may present itself if the woman would play her cards right, she went inside.

As Shealyne went inside, she saw several patrons at the bar, a Redguard woman, a Nordic bard singing and attempting to woo several woman, a staunch Nord female sitting alone in the back, clad in iron armor, and the esteemed owner of the The Bannered Mare.

Not wanting to be located anywhere near the roaring fire pit, Shealyne sat down in a shaded corner, a small candle burning at her table, the wax melting and flame slowly dying. Shealyne stared at the tiny candle for some time, pupils flickering in the dying glow as her red irises snapped to an approaching Redguard woman.

"Welcome to the Bannered Mare. I'm Saadia. Can I get you anything?"

"Just...give me a drink, please. Any kind will do." Shealyne replied, giving the woman the appropriate amount of gold to cover the drink.

"Very well...I'll be right back." Saadia nodded, returning several minutes later with an ale, to which she gently set upon the table, "Enjoy your drink."

"Thank you." Shealyne smiled slightly, the Redguard nodding once before walking away, leaving the woman by herself as she simply stared upon the mug of ale, not truly wishing to drink the contents.

Shealyne stared upon the mug, picking it up and tilting the cup, swishing the ale around inside, as if bored. Her eyes glanced around the tavern, a blonde haired bard singing his little heart out for several ladies, one looking unimpressed as she began to walk off.

Sighing, the Breton sniffed her mug, the alcoholic content burning her nostrils as she reeled back. Even by just smelling it she could tell it was strong. Everything within Skyrim seemed to be...she did not know how to describe it. True? Honest? Bare? It was certainly different from the Cyrodiilic Brandy mixed with honey she was used to. Oh, she wished she could have some right now...and have some flowers in a vase. She missed the smell of flowers. Skyrim smelled like mead, iron and sweat.

"Sithis take me..." Shealyne muttered softly, suddenly taking a swig of her ale, the drink so strong she could barely force herself to swallow it down as she gagged. She paused to regain her breath, the alcohol burning as she shook herself, taking another swig, the process much easier.

"Ohhh...damn it...just like sex." She muttered, once more swiveling the ale within her mug before trying to remember the last time she actually had sex. She paused, staring into her ale, yet for the life of her could not remember when.

'Hmmmm...it could not be that long...' She thought, trying to remember, but alas, could not. The woman had decided to simply drop the thought, for thinking on the matter made her feel rather old and dwell on a time that had forgotten about her, yet she had never forgotten it.

'Being a vampire sucks...figuratively and literally.' Shealyne thought, a bit bitterly before taking another swig. She may not have been a big fan of Nordic ale, but it was growing on her...slowly, but surely. Though she still wanted her Cyrodiilic Brandy with honey. Or some flowers to cover up the odd smells in the tavern. Maybe she could buy some in the morning? Once she found someone to suck dry, of course. Still, the opportunity had yet to present itself, and the woman was willing to wait.

As for Arlen and Olana, the second they passed through the great doors of Jorrvaskr, many pairs of eyes looked up at them from the dinner table. Hearty plates of mostly red meats had been picked apart, and mugs of mead lie almost empty. The Companions were seated around the long table centered by a bonfire, and they didn't look too happy at the interruption.

"No applications for membership today anymore. It's late, can't you see?" the bearded grey one in the center of the table tiredly asked.

"Kodlak, don't you recognize me?" Olana's vision passed from one face to another; many she recognized, but many were new. Everyone that she knew from before were there...except one.

Arlen also glanced at the faces in the glow of the bonfire, but none of them remotely looked like his little sister. At least the way he remembered her.

A ponytailed, one-eyed man stood up and spoke to Olana, "You're that whelp that left us, what, some ten years ago? Couldn't even listen to your father. Well, what are you doing here?!"

"Skjor, please. Handle this with civility." Skjor looked at Kodlak, then returned in his seat. Kodlak continued, "Olana, Thearis is not here. He's...on duty for the Legion, I believe."

"I know. I saw him at Helgen. During the dragon attack. I came here to see if he's back; he's still out there somewhere I guess." Olana looked away, almost disappointed.

"Yes, the dragon. We've heard news of it, and a few of us ventured to the base of the Throat to scout. Haven't returned yet." Kodlak took a swig from his tankard.

A youthful, bearded man pined, "They didn't even take me: Farkas, the best tracker in Jorrvaskr!"

Arlen perked up, "Wait, is my sister in this scout party? Her name is Anya."

The man next to Farkas (and looked quite similar to) spoke, "My mate?" he laughed, "No, she's in the back, feeding my son."

Olana almost scowled; this was the man she was to be with...Vilkas. Even her father approved of the match. Until that newblood Anya walked through the doors, wanting to be a Companion. Eventually she earned the love of the Inner Circle, and Vilkas, and received the blood of the werewolf.

"Son? My sister has a kid?!" Arlen almost stepped back in shock. He remembers her as a little pigtailed girl that only came up to his waist at the time he left Riften...which was also about ten years ago.

"Yes, I do, Arlen." the woman who was once a little pigtailed girl came out from the living quarters, a toddler hiding behind her leg. "What are you doing here? When did you get out of jail?" She looked quite similar to her brother, the same light brown hair and unexpectedly tall stature.

Olana turned to him, "You were in jail?!" and Arlen stuttered, "Uh-just for a little. Keep something from the Guild, and hey, you get arrested."

"Is this your new piece of meat, Arlie? She couldn't have my husband so she went after my brother." Anya smirked.

"Bitch, I didn't know he was related to you. If I did-"

"Take your fight outside, if you must!" Kodlak boomed, which earned looks from the rest of them; they weren't used to Kodlak raising his voice. "Just leave Jorrvaskr in peace."

"Come on." Olana grabbed Arlen's arm and stormed towards the door with him in tow, him saying, "Annie, we have to talk sometime, come to the Mare!" was all he could get out before Olana shut the door and they stood on Jorrvaskr's steps.

"Don't tell her to go to the goddamned Mare because we're going to the Mare." Olana started down the steps, and Arlen could do nothing but follow.

A few moments later, with the two opening the door to the Bannered Mare, Thearis makes his way through the square, towards that familiar scent. Even more familiar as his daughter had recently been here.

"Ugghh! That stupid, cocky, arrogant bitch! I did not end up with you so I could fantasize about her damned husband that I was supposed to be with!" She hissed, anger in her voice, "I'm not a damned piece of meat!"

"Well hey, it's not my fault my sister is your boyfriend's wife. Saadia, some of that strong Argonian ale, right here. ...Thanks, honey." Arlen downed a good gulp, then replied to the red-faced Olana, "At least you're not rancid meat, that would be nasty. You're a good piece of meat, believe me, babe."

"And how would you know? You ain't a wolf." She muttered, obviously still very, very angry.

"Just take a drink, and let it all go. We could even get a room for the night, if you know what I mean." he snorted and took another drink. It's almost empty already. "Another one, Saadia."

She rolled her eyes, "Sure, let's drink till I can't see straight and then you screw my brains out." She replied a bit sarcastically, yet grabbed a mug.

"Oh you love it, admit it." Arlen smirking when she took the mug, "That a girl."

Despite her anger, she found herself smiling as she took a sip, "Bastard." She then set the mug down, burping slightly, "Excuse me."

Arlen broke out laughing, "PFFFaaaahahahaha.."

"Sorry for performing a normal bodily function." She apologized, sarcasm lacing her voice, face flushing at his laughter. She was such a proper woman...

"THERE you guys are! I thought you'd never get here!" a familiar face came over to them, even with the dimness of the firelight.

"Ah, Shealyne, my girl. This is where you went." Arlen's mouth seemed to be stuck to his mug when he wasn't talking. "Was gonna send out a scout party soon."

The red headed woman nodded, "Yeah...lookin' for a fix. But then I hit the...ale. And...yeah." She faltered, stumbling just a wee bit, "I was drinking by myself for the...looongest time. Yeah. But then yous showed up. And now...meh, I ain't drinkin' alone anymore."

The bottom of Olana's mug finally went up and up until she sipped the last bit, and then let out a much larger belch than before. She didn't bother to say "excuse me" but rather, "another one".

"Your Pa must be soooo proud." Shealyne commented, "...why do I feel like we're missing somethin'? Or am I missin' something?"

"Skooma! Do you think they have skooma?!" Arlen beamed, "Aaaaalways a party with skooma.."

"No, you idiot! Hadvar-shit! Where is he, again?!" Olana wildly looked around, but with her vision starting to blur, she couldn't make him out from the bard.

"Umm...maybe we should ask where we misplaced our Hadvar? There...there can't be too many Hadvars out there, right?" Shealyne questioned, her sense of balance so terrible she was almost falling off the chair, "...Why is the room spinning?"

"...Who's Hadvar?" Arlen looked at them with complete seriousness.

"Arlen...did you rename your penis again? Change it to something that isn't as ugly sounding as Hadvar!" Olana whined.

"I think...that is a person...or something..." Shealyne blurted, swiftly bursting out in laughter, "I have no idea what I'm...what I'm saying..."

Suddenly, the door to the Bannered Mare opened, revealing the man they were...mostly speaking about. Hadvar looked around, spying the drunken trio in the corner and sighed with both relief and annoyance, "By the Eight! There you three are! I had to go to Dragonsreach and inform the Jarl by myself!" He scolded, approaching the group.

"Hey!...look, Arlen, it's your penis named Hadvar!" Olana pointed at what she thought was Hadvar, but was really a wooden beam. Hadvar looked upon the woman, disturbed, "...What?"

"Oh, hi! I found Hadvar!" Shealyne cried, though no sooner had she spoken those words did she fall off her seat and onto the floor in a heap.

"Good Gods..." Hadvar muttered, helping the woman up, "You three are a mess. All of you need to get some rest and sleep off the ale."

With that, Hadvar approached the owner and paid for renting two rooms for the night, and, hesitantly, for the ale they all drank.

He somehow dragged the three of them across the tavern, which was slowly losing people for the night, and carefully helped them up the stairs to the rooms. He determined they weren't so bad that they needed to be watched so they don't choke, so he let Arlen and Olana into one room, and he was left with Shealyne in his room next door.

He thought back to Cyrodiil, the kiss they shared in Shealyne's home, and wondered if it really meant anything. He wondered this now more than ever because circumstance says that they will sleep in the same bed tonight. We are on strictly friendly terms for now, he thought to himself.

The room was quite small, but cozy. Hadvar put his sword and shield on the floor, and removed his boots and his armor to reveal the clothes underneath. He glanced at what Shealyne was doing; the woman was facing away from the man, kneeling down to take off her boots before setting them against the wall-almost stumbling over- before setting her dagger on the end table. She then sniffed, an almost hesitant, pausing action before she slowly removed an outer layer of clothing, the durable wool layer giving way to a much softer undershirt. She then proceeded to fold her clothing, setting them down near her boots as she began to hum an almost anxious tune, nervous.

She was not nervous about undressing, no. What did unsettle the woman was the fact that she would be sharing a bed with a man. Not intimately, yet it was a simple action that she had become unaccustomed to over the years of living by herself. The more she thought about merely sharing a bed, however, the more she became perplexed. Were she two hundred years younger, she would never share the same room with a Nord. But now...this man was a Nord, yet he did not seem as bad as the others from her past. He was nice, friendly, noble, strong, handsome.

She paused at that, almost completely losing her balance as she twitched-almost violently so. Handsome? No, no, she did not just think that. He was a damned Nord! A Nord!

She frowned deeply, shifting uncomfortably, and were she still alive her heart would be racing. Did she find him handsome? Yes? No? She was not sure. But she was sure that he was a good man. A good man, yes. If a Nord. But a good, true man.

She then slowly turned around, steps shaky before climbing into the bed, not even bothering to get under the fur covers as she curled into a ball and hugged herself, confused, and blaming the alcohol for her own confusion. Damn. He smelled strange, good even. Damn, and he was still on the other side of the small room. Damn. Damn! Damn!

She groaned, trying to bury her own head and curl up even deeper into a ball, beginning to think of their kiss. Why did she kiss him? Was she happy to see him? Yes, yes she was. Did it mean anything?...No, no it didn't. But what if it did, and she just didn't realize it yet? Or what if she was fooling herself into thinking it meant nothing when it truly did? Or, or...perhaps it was just the mead. Yes, it was just the mead. And ale. Damn ale to Oblivion.

Arlen and Olana's bed creaking furiously in the next room over didn't help the awkwardness.

Shealyne now could not sleep, and instead stared wide eyed at the wall in front of her, face flushing, and wishing she were simply somewhere else. She wasn't sure how this night could get anymore awkward.

It was made more queer, however, as she felt the bed shift, a larger weight just opposite of she, Hadvar slowly climbing on the bed.

'Damn it!' Shealyne thought, trying to ignore the strong musk and block out the terribly noisy creaking of the bed in the next room. Well, at least it can't get any worse.

"Good night, Shealyne. Even though you probably won't remember this tomorrow..." Hadvar muttered.

"Of course I'll remember it!" Shealyne murmured, "How could I forget this? You're so...warm.." she trailed off, but was sure he heard it. Damn it. Why did he have to smell so damned intoxicating and feel so warm? Such a shame she was cold and, well, dead.

It may have been the ale coursing through her system, making her head fuzzy, but all the woman wanted to do was face the man and bury her head in his chest, inhale the odd scent and feel the immense warmth. But she could not do that, no. Part of her knew better.

Her mind swirled, trying to make sense of the strange impulses. This was not love, no. Nor any other emotional feeling of affection. But if not then why was it so strong? Why was it building up inside of her, threatening to spill forth in a rush? She did not know the answer, but she did know that she would not allow such foolish desires to plague her mind. It was not fair to Hadvar, nor was it fair to her. And it was her responsibility to keep not only herself, but Hadvar safe by completely resisting the desired actions her mind and body seemed to crave.

She buried her head into her pillow. It was foolish, yes. Love was foolish, and not meant for her kind. Yet if so, why did she keep trying if she was always hurt so? In the end, she would be forced to watch yet another man decay and die whilst she remain trapped in a time long gone, she led into madness and paranoia that soon the live heart she had fallen in love with would cease to beat.

'This is stupid,' She thought, 'Nothing can happen. Nothing will happen. It is just my imagination. He wouldn't find interest in a blood sucking corpse. Yeah, that's right. I'm just...fooling myself. No one in their right mind would want a vampire. I would only be a parasite and offer no benefit, not even children...why did I just think that? Oh well...all the more reason not to be a vampire. Or fall for one.'

With that, the woman closed her eyes for several seconds before reopening them, muttering, "Goodnight, Hadvar."

However, no sleep came to the woman, and the constant, rapid creaking of the bed in the next room over just did not seem to stop. Attempting to block out the noise, Shealyne once more receded within her mind, dwelling upon recent events.

After some moments of thinking, her eyes widened a bit at the man's words when he had wished her goodnight. Why would he mention her remembering this night? Did he want her to remember? Why? Did he sound...sad? Happy? Or just tired? She couldn't remember, and didn't want to focus upon the current subject, yet it had bothered her quite deeply. Remembering...why would he care?

She sighed softly, knowing only time would tell if his comment meant anything. Knowing herself, she was reading into the matter far too much. And had too much ale. From now on, she was sticking to her Cyrodiilic Brandy with honey.


	4. Chapter 4

Last time, the four took the trip to Whiterun, things happened, and they got drunk. A good night, right?

Well, this ends the Saga. Thanks for reading!

Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda, we only own our characters: Shealyne, Arlen, Olana, Thearis, Anya, and Anya's kid.

* * *

The slow night passed and Shealyne arose while the room was still dark, seemingly the only one of the group awake. She stood, walked to the small table in the room, and sat in the chair. With magic, she put flame to the candle on the table, it casting its faint light through the room. Hadvar still slumbered with his chest rising and falling gently. How human of him, Shealyne thought.

Still, no matter how much being human, being warm and fleshy and transient appeals to her, she would not give up the existence of a vampire. Shealyne has gained so much knowledge about so many different subjects and schools of magic that one could not possibly learn in a single lifetime. About how to prepare nightshade so as to make it consumable, how to extract the deadly but useful Harrada plant from the planes of Oblivion safely. What spells counter which Daedra attacks effectively. How to finish off a mark cleanly, making it look like an accident. And most importantly, how to keep this one thing, Porphyric Hemophilia, a secret. Its only price is companionship.

Sure, she can think back to the days when she spent time learning with her dear mentor, Vicente, but it was not the same as feeling the warm, loving touch of a man. Or of her smiling, precious children that she now has no doubt they no longer live. With every passing of the seasons, she gets more and more numb. Sun up, sun down...year in, year out. It has become a familiar rhythm.

Shealyne was torn from her thoughts when Hadvar stirred and sat up in the rickety wooden bed. He flattened his messy hair and focused his vision, only slightly surprised to find Shealyne at the table wide awake instead of still sleeping.

"I'm sorry, Hadvar. Did I wake you?" Shealyne asked, pupils reflecting the soft light that illuminated from the candle as she focused her gaze upon the man.

"Hmmm, no, no you didn't. I just...woke up on my own accord. Why are you still up?" Hadvar asked, the man slowly becoming more alert.

"I am not used to sleeping much. Over thinking tends to keep me awake, but I get by." She muttered.

"Thinking of what, if you don't mind me asking?" The man asked, Shealyne propping her head upon her arm, resting on the table.

"Hmmmm, a lot of things. The past, the present, the future. As I said, I over think, and that leads to me, well...not sleeping."

"Do you think of your children?" Hadvar questioned, the woman's eyes widening at that.

"I beg your pardon?" She inquired, wondering if she let it slip that she did indeed have offspring at one point. If not...well then, that would be creepy.

"You mentioned at my Uncle's house that you had children, as well as a husband. Yet in Cyrodiil you were living alone. You know what-I apologize. That matter is none of my concern. Still, I wanted to thank you for standing up to Sigrid for me. She never liked me much." Hadvar seemed down.

"I...you're welcome. I didn't mean to be rude towards your family. For that I apologize." The woman cleared her throat, briefly wondering how many hours of night were left.

"That is alright. I know my aunt can be a bit...difficult to get along with. No matter." Hadvar swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up and glance out the glass window. "It seems it will be morning soon, a few merchants are setting up shop. Might as well just stay awake.." Hadvar turned and put on his outer longsleeved shirt.

Shealyne also got to her feet and stretched. She opened the door and poked her head in the hallway; all was still. "I'm going to see if anyone's downstairs." and left Hadvar alone.

As she suspected, the hearth downstairs was unlit and not a soul could be seen. Let Saadia open the place, she thought. Then she heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned and anticipated Hadvar, but instead it was Arlen.

"Have a good night?" Shealyne scoffed.

"Nah, I got some kinda twitch in my neck-ooh, that. We were so trashed I almost forgot."

"I had that happen before. Remembered nothing." She shrugged. Olana started coming down the stairs.

"Fun, isn't it?" Arlen snorted. He walked behind the main counter, and looked on the shelves. "Damn, nothing. Thought they'd forget to take some bottles in for the night, but they remembered. We've been here too much, Olana."

"What? Did we drink the whole place out of business?" Olana questioned, rubbing her eyes a bit, "Or did you steal one too many?"

"Both apparently." Arlen picked up his shield and sword, and reattached the sword to his armor, and the shield to his back. "Welp, it's been good, Shealyne. We're gonna get moving."

"You're leaving? Where are you two going?" The woman questioned, a brow raised, "That just leaves me with the Nord." She frowned. On second thought...that could be a good thing.

"The road calls us." Olana made sure she had everything, going over her fur armor. Once that was done, she looked at Arlen and nodded, and then at Shealyne, "We'll meet again...bloodsucker."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Time will tell, dog." Shealyne muttered, releasing a soft sigh, brushing a stray hair out of her sight, "Goodbye then."

With that, the two left the empty room, Arlen groaning on his way out, "Ah shit, Heimskr's out. Let's go before he tries converting us again."

Shealyne sighed. In all her unnatural years, she never met anyone like those two, and doubts she ever will again.

'...Now that leaves me with Hadvar. For now.' She thought, unsure how long she would remain in his company. She supposed until the man was called to fight for the Legion, or until he tired of her.

"Do you need something, miss?" Saadia almost startled Shealyne, coming out of a room holding a candle.

"No. No thank you. I'm just up early." Shealyne sat down at the counter, "I'll just wait for my partner to come down."

'...Damn, did I just call him my partner?' The Breton questioned, cursing herself quietly. Well, it was partly true.

Saadia didn't reply as she set down the candlestick and quickly rekindled the fire at the large hearth in the center of the room. She then went into the kitchen, out of sight.

Shealyne unconsciously began to hum a tune as she continued to wait for the man, glancing at the stairs every so often, then to the door leading to Whiterun. She wondered what was taking him so long? Oh well. She had nothing but time on her hands.

"The Age of Aggression." came a man's voice.

"..Damn.." Shealyne was startled once again. This time by the man she was looking for. "Excuse me?"

"That song you're humming, it's called the Age of Aggression. An Imperial song. I'm surprised you know it." he trotted down the stairs, dressed in his armor and all.

"Why are you surprised that I know of it?" She questioned, watching the man. She hadn't realized she was humming so loud...perhaps her ears were going after so many years?

"Well, you are from Cyrodiil...it was just unexpected I suppose."

"Do you disapprove of my humming? If so, I will simply remain quiet. Or hum softer." She crossed her arms, "And my singing voice is terrible. I could kill a man if he listens long enough."

Hadvar laughed, "Not at all, you may hum all you want. And oh, it can't be that bad." Shealyne could not keep her eyes away from his smile...it was so boyish and yet she was drawn to it. Her mouth was drawn to it, but she knew she couldn't just do that.

The woman stared at him, though chuckled almost girlishly-and had greatly embarrassed herself in the process-clamping her mouth shut, "...sorry. You laughed and then I laughed like a banshee and then...uuuhhh...yeah." She decided to shut her mouth rather than embarrass herself further. Damn, she really sucked with guys. She was acting like a teenager for Sithis' sake!

"...I like your smile." She stated, the simple comment spilling from her mouth far faster than she could think to stop it. Damn. She really was acting like a teenager. He probably thought she was a fool, now.

Hadvar looked down and grinned, "...thank you, I suppose. Listen, I have something to ask of you." he looked up at her, "Will you go with me to Riverwood today? To check up on my uncle Alvor? I want to know if he and his family are alright, and if the Jarl sent troops."

"Truly? After my embarrassing moment? We must be good friends, then." She laughed a bit playfully, "But...I think I would like that. Riverwood is such a cozy little town. I think that would be nice. Kind of reminds me of my little shack in the forest But with less trolls. And more dragons." She replied, though smiled, as did Hadvar.

They had a small breakfast with the help of Saadia, and by the time they set out, it was morning, and people lined the square and main streets of Whiterun.

Shealyne stared at the many products the artisans offered, her eyes leading her to an old woman with a stall full of jewelry-which was located directly outside of The Bannered Mare. She couldn't help it, she liked shiny things. And flowers.

"Trinkets and jewelry for a pretty lady!" The old woman cried, trying to attract attention to her wares, Shealyne already staring at the many shining pieces of gems and metals.

"Ohhhh, they're so pretty!" She exclaimed, not at all used to the latest fashion accessories from her years in solitude. She found it hard to believe that some of the jewelry was even made with the way some were shaped and perfectly molded.

Shealyne had to resist the urge to try on the jewelry, lest she would desire them even more. She also knew she did not have enough money to buy them-which in truth, she had spent her last coin on the ale from last night.

She frowned, turning away from the stall. She was never one for fancy things, but some of the jewelry was just so beautiful she would instantly buy them if she had the money. But alas, she did not.

Shealyne began to hum softly to herself once more as the pair made their way to the gates of Whiterun, both knowing full well the simple journey south would take a good portion of the day.

In time, the pair had passed the Honningbrew Meadery, the rural farmlands leading to more forested areas and rugged terrain.

The Breton had remained quiet for much of the journey save for the occasional soft humming, the woman not wanting to embarrass herself further. In time, her humming died as well, and the woman fell into complete silence, not wanting to annoy her companion.

"You're awfully quiet. Is something the matter?" Hadvar questioned, the Breton's gaze falling upon him as his voice broke the serenity of nature.

"No, why?" Shealyne questioned.

"Because you stopped humming. Come on, that has to mean something!" He laughed, "Are you over thinking again?"

"Unfortunately."

"Really? Care to tell what's on your mind?"

"I've just been wondering...how long are you going to stay in Riverwood? With the Imperial Legion and all?" Shealyne asked, curiosity in her voice.

"Hmmmm, I'm not sure, to be honest. A few days? A few weeks? I should get back to Solitude...report to General Tullius so he doesn't think I deserted. That wouldn't be fun." Hadvar muttered.

"Oh, I see." She replied, slightly crestfallen, her tone not going unnoticed by the Nord.

"Something the matter?"

"Well, were you to leave for the Legion-which you shall in due time-I was thinking that I may as well return to Cyrodiil. I have no true ties here in Skyrim, so without you I have truly no reason to stay within this country." She frowned, not entirely wanting to stay in Skyrim, yet not entirely wanting to return to her beloved Cyrodiil, for she truly had nowhere to return to in either county.

Hadvar thought for a moment, then said, "...You will think of something sooner or later, I'm sure of it." sounding slightly hesitant, as if these words were not his originally intended thoughts. "Heh, you can always join the Legion."

Shealyne smiled as well, "We'll see." though she thought it quite unlikely that she would do such a thing, "Do you have anyone in Riverwood? I'm not sure if being with a soldier would be a blessing or a curse, but I've seen many women whose husbands have gone off to war. Some returned, while many did not. But still, even the widows retained pride in the fact that their husbands gave their lives for the Empire, and fought like true Legionnaires. My husband wasn't a soldier, but I can only try to imagine how the wives of those soldiers felt when their husbands never returned. It must be painful." She then frowned slightly. From what she had seen of the Legion not too long ago, it had changed greatly over the years. Still, no matter how much the Imperial Legion may have been altered over the years, the loss of a loved one is always the same, and heartbreaking.

"My family is in Riverwood...wait, that's not what you meant, was it?" Hadvar questioned, trying to clarify the situation.

"No, that's not what I meant." She replied, grinning slightly, as if in a teasing manner.

"Well, in that case, no. I don't have anyone." The man answered, clearing his throat a bit.

Shealyne raised a brow at that. She found that a bit hard to believe. From what she could tell he was a good man, and had the desirable qualities of a potential spouse. Maybe the marriage values in Skyrim were different than those in Cyrodiil?

"Is it because of the Legion? If so, I can see why. I've seen it happen before." Shealyne asked, curious as she looked upon the man, though her focus soon fell upon the approaching village, "Well...here we are."

"Hmmmm? Oh, yeah. It's nice to be home." Hadvar murmured, "I hope the Jarl sent soldiers here in case that dragon comes back."

"Hopefully he did. I've heard nothing but good about the Jarl." The woman commented, the pair crossing the small bridge and arriving in the small town, "Wait...why do I smell smoke?" Shealyne asked, suddenly concerned for her safety, since fire was bad for vampires.

"What are you...wait, now I smell it. By the Gods! That dragon must have attacked!" Hadvar voiced in worry, the man taking off down the road as Shealyne followed-if at a slower pace.

Getting closer, the pair saw several trees still smoldering and a few houses charred black and leveled to the ground. No one was in the street.

They walked past The Sleeping Giant, which could normally be heard from the street with its usual merry crowd inside, but now was silent. Not even the town dog Stump was seen about.

Hadvar hurried to Alvor's house and forge, and thankfully saw it still standing. He rapped on the door, hoping for a response, and a few moments later, the door did open, but not by who Hadvar was expecting.

Dorthe peeked her head out, and once she saw Hadvar and Shealyne, opened it wider. "Why are you here?" she asked softly.

"Where is Alvor? And Sigrid?" Hadvar peered behind Dorthe searching for her parents, but the house was quiet.

"...Papa and Mama…" Dorthe started rubbing her eyes and whimpering, which turned into sobbing.

"Oh Dorthe..it was the dragon, wasn't it?" Shealyne said almost apologetically and wrapped her arms around the girl. Shealyne frowned at the little girl's sorrow, still, she knew from experience that a parent would gladly die to protect their children. At least she would have. She would have risked everything for her children.

Hadvar took in the situation. "There will be time to grieve, Dorthe, but right now you must answer my questions for the safety of Riverwood. How long ago did this happen?" the man crouched to her level.

Dorthe sniffed, "Overnight."

"How many others died? Do you remember? And where are they?"

"I..I don't know. Mama and Papa..the elf man..one of Hod's cows. The Stormcloak's badly hurt." Dorthe wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"The Stormcloak?" Shealyne asked. She wasn't quite familiar with all of Riverwood's inhabitants yet.

Hadvar frowned, "Ralof. The one we were supposed to execute at Helgen, remember? He must've returned here. Gerdur is his sister." Hadvar stood up and asked Dorthe, "And there were no soldiers here yet?"

"Y-Yes there were a few. Some of them died, too. They're with Ralof at the Sleeping Giant." Dorthe answered.

"And all the wounded are at the Sleeping Giant?" Shealyne asked, "I have knowledge in restoration magic. I can help them...or make a few potions."

"Dorthe, stay here. We'll be right back to figure out what to do." Hadvar started for the door, Shealyne following.

Across the street, they entered into the hall of the Sleeping Giant and at once they were greeted by a few helmetless guards sitting around the fire. Ralof joined them sporting a few bandages. When he spotted the two, he set down his mug.

"Well, look who shows up. A man who claims he loves his country but is nowhere to be found in its distress." Ralof scowled

"And before me I see an ale guzzling, barbaric Nord who is destroying his own country by having it fall into a civil war. I applaud you, I truly do." Shealyne replied, sarcastic venom laced within her voice.

"Please, let there be no fighting. I'm not your enemy right now, Ralof. We were in Whiterun to ask the Jarl for Riverwood's aid in the first place. If we had not gone, these guards before you wouldn't have come, and the entire town might have fallen. It'd be Helgen all over again." Hadvar stated, but Ralof said nothing.

"Now that our pleasant greetings are exchanged, who is in need of healing? Or want healing?" Shealyne questioned, her hands starting to glow in a faint light. She know fully well that some people tended to be weary of magic. Or at least some forms of magic.

She attempted to approach Ralof, but the Nord merely sneered at her, "Keep your fancy magic fingers away from me, Breton."

The woman scrunched her nose, "As you wish. Be in pain, then." She growled softly, beginning to turn towards the other wounded men. Many did not refuse her aid, though some were naturally wary.

"Well then...that is that, I suppose." Shealyne muttered, the woman looking upon her hands, which had gotten some blood upon them in the process of aiding the men.

"So the dead are: Alvor, Sigrid, Faendal, a few Whiterun guards and a cow?" Hadvar asked the group, which earned an affirmative answer from one of the guards. "We'll have to properly identify the guards if we can." Hadvar said.

"We've already burned the bodies." Ralof answered, taking a drink from his mug, "The guards know who died among them."

"What did you do with the cow?" Shealyne asked, wondering if she could take the opportunity to feed from it. The blood may have clotted already...but blood was blood. She didn't want to risk feeding on the locals.

"What are ya, some kinda Daedra worshipper? Whattaya want a cow for?" Ralof muttered.

"Because I don't want the cow to go to waste. I can make use of it." She answered, crossing her arms, forgetting she had blood on her hands and accidentally smeared her shirt, "Damn it."

"Well, it's Hod's. He was going to butcher it for its meat." Ralof rolled his eyes.

'Great. I'm going to starve.' Shealyne thought, 'And now I'll have to clean my clothing. Shit. Did I even bring a spare set?' She now became lost in thought, frowning. An unfortunate woman with only one set of clothing...who ever heard of that? Apparently she was said unfortunate woman.

"He may as well keep it then..." Shealyne muttered, knowing the cow would go to waste with her intended purposes, "I am going to clean my clothes." and left Hadvar with the other men.

With that, the Breton exited the Sleeping Giant and followed the river upstream, a rabbit fleeing from her. Shealyne cocked her head, looking at the small coney before glancing back down the road, the village no longer in sight. However, the woman had ignored the small mammal, her want to kill long dead. If she were lucky, maybe she could slip out during the night and feed on some of the livestock.

Shealyne sighed, approaching the river bed and kneeling beside the flowing water, once more looking at her hands covered in blood. Shaking her head, she lowered her hands into the river, washing them of the life liquid.

Once her hands were clean, the woman began to take off her bloodied shirt. Submerging herself into the water, Shealyne shivered. The waters of Skyrim seems so much colder as compared to Cyrodiil. Goosebumps became to form upon her skin as Shealyne paused at her waist, trying to scrub the blood from her attire. Blood was always difficult to get out. She may not even be able to get it out.

Her tongue stuck out in concentration, and after cleaning her shirt as best she could, Shealyne hung the article of clothing on a low lying branch. Once done, the woman proceeded to sit down and wait.

Shealyne did nothing save watch the river, the woman then sighing as she thought back upon the recent travesty. What if the group had returned to Riverwood during the night? Perhaps Dorthe would still have her parents then. Yet she knew better. She knew they would have never arrived on time, and that dwelling upon the past was useless when it could not be changed, only learnt from.

"Poor Dorthe." Shealyne frowned, feeling for the little girl. She could only imagine what the girl was going through, and while her maternal instincts beckoned to comfort the girl, she knew she should not. It was not her place to be the guardian to a child she had just met yesterday, and it was certainly not to try and replace her mother. Riverwood looked after its own, so she knew Dorthe would be alright.

The sun had already set when the woman returned to Riverwood. Her clothes may not have been completely dry, but they were good enough for her.

Shealyne rested alongside the outer wall of Riverwood, not wanting to spend the night anywhere else. It felt wrong if she spent the night with Dorthe, for it felt as if she were disrespecting the child's parents by sleeping in their humble home. She also felt as if she would put the broken family in danger. She dared not spend the night at The Sleeping Giant either, for she did not even have enough money. In fact...she had no money. Still, Shealyne did not mind spending the night outside. The sounds of the night brought her comfort. At least there were no trolls to worry about here. Only dragons.

The sound of footsteps tore her eyes to the road, and she saw Hadvar trotting to her, saying, "There you are, were you out here all day? I was looking for you!"

"I told you I was going to wash my clothes. That means 'alone time'...and not that kind of alone time, either." Shealyne stated, pausing to correct her speech.

"Ahhhh...I see." Hadvar replied, face flushing a bit, though the through the darkness was not easily visible, "So...what are you doing out here in the dark? It can be dangerous out at night."

"I plan on sleeping outside." She answered, as if it was obvious. The Nord shook his head.

"Why would you do that? That's a good way to end up dead."

"Hiding inside doesn't help when you're caught in a burning building from dragon fire." Shealyne retorted, almost instantly realizing the unintended harshness in her words, "I'm sorry, Hadvar. I didn't mean it like that."

Hadvar remained silent for several seconds, shifting slightly, "I know. It's okay, Shealyne."

She frowned, "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here. I know how it feels to lose loved ones."

He smiled a bit sullenly, his actions far more laden with grief than when she last saw him, "Thank you. I guess I have you to count on, eh? That's good to hear."

The woman nodded, smiling through pursed lips as her gaze fell downcast to the earth below, head bobbing, "How is she?"

"Upset. I'm not sure what I'll do now. I can't just leave the Legion to take care of Dorthe, I would be executed for desertion. Yet if I follow the Legion into war I may not return. Then Dorthe will have no one." Hadvar sighed, deep and heavy.

"I see...Well, if you don't...come back...at least Dorthe will have the rest of Riverwood to take care of her." Shealyne stated, finding it rather hard for her to speak of him dying. That would truly be tragic.

"Yeah. That's one good thing, I guess." He murmured, shrugging, "But, on another note: you aren't going to actually spend the night out here, are you?"

"That's the plan."

"A terrible idea, that. I think you should spend the night with me and Dorthe. I think Dorthe would like someone to talk to-other than me, I mean. I think she could use a friend...just in case."

"If you don't come back?" She questioned, Hadvar simply nodding in response.

"I...don't think that's a good idea." Shealyne commented, "I feel like sleeping in the house of the recently deceased is wrong."

"They aren't going to be used much, then. Just for tonight, that's all I ask. I don't think it's safe for anyone to be in the street incase that dragon comes back again." Hadvar reasoned, the woman frowning.

"There's more to it than that." She stated, the man crossing his arms.

"Then tell me what is wrong."

Shealyne sighed, shaking her head. There were many reasons as to why she did not want to spend the night in Alvor's house. She did not want to disrespect the dead by interfering with their earthly objects. She also did not want to go within that house due to her hunger-for doing so would put both man and child in danger. She did not want to befriend the Nordic child-as an undead, she was hardly a fitting role model. Yet, she yearned to nurture and protect something-though becoming a maternal figure to the girl was not her place. She did not want to disrespect the girl's mother by doing so. However, one of the main reasons was simply how the man made her feel-though it was a feeling she was unaccustomed to and did not understand. She dared to admit that in the many weeks they had traveled together that she had genuinely cared for the young man's well being. But was that wrong? He was her friend.

"It's just...how you make me feel. I do not understand it, and I know what I feel is useless and foolish because you...you..." She paused, trying to explain, "...Do not feel the same way I do-cannot-in fact. I also know that you turn me into a flubbering fool and that undermines my self confidence. I dislike it. I want it to stop, but I don't know how to make it go away." She stated, frowning as her arms crossed over her chest.

"I-you know what? Forget I even said anything. Forget it. I just feel uncomfortable in new houses." She muttered, beginning to slowly walk away. With that, the woman returned to her wall, resting against it.

'Why do I feel like kissing you?' She thought, desperate to get away and focus upon something else, happy to be away from the man where his scent didn't distract her.

"Umm...okay, then?" Hadvar questioned, confused by the woman's antics. From one feeling to another. Typical woman. He turned, starting towards Alvor's house, and said, "Well...do what you want. I'll be sleeping in Alvor's house. I'll figure out what to do with Dorthe in the morning."

With unnatural speed, Shealyne stepped towards Hadvar, turned him around, and pressed her lips to his without hesitation. He almost stepped back in surprise, but didn't, and instead decided to return the affection. She regretted nothing.

After breaking it, Shealyne submitted, "I'll stay with you and Dorthe tonight. In the comfort of the house." and sighed. With that, Hadvar silently started towards the house again, Shealyne following.

What the future holds for her, Hadvar, and little Dorthe no one could know. But what Shealyne does know, as long as she sticks with the best Nord in Skyrim-no, Tamriel-for the time being, it'll be alright.

"Oh, and, uhhh, Shealyne?" Hadvar called, turning around towards the woman so that he blocked the door.

"Yes?" She asked, a thin brow cocked in curiosity.

"I know your little secret." The man whispered, a grin plastered upon his face as the woman looked upon him with confusion.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I felt your fangs." He stated, seeing a look of horror and worry flood Shealyne's features. Hadvar then burst out laughing upon seeing her reaction, shaking his head before allowing her entry into the house, "It's alright. I have faith that you'll be able to control yourself."

She stood for several seconds, taking in what the man had said before sighing as she entered the dwelling, muttering with a slight smile, "Damn Nord."


End file.
